Chapter 42 up
Consciousness returned like a wound slowly tearing open.
Nyla let out a soft groan as a violent ache throbbed through her head. The stench of dampness and rust burned her nose. She tried to move her hands—metal chains clinked together, the cold sound echoing through the confined space. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Darkness.
Not merely the absence of light, but a suffocating darkness, one that pressed in on her chest as if swallowing her very breath.
“Where… am I?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Fragments of the night crashed back into her mind—footsteps behind her, rough hands, a muffled scream, then pain exploding across her skull. Nyla swallowed hard, her chest tightening. Her fingers searched blindly—cold concrete beneath her palms, coarse walls, the stale, moldy air turning her stomach.
This is real, she told herself. I’ve been kidnapped.
Tears slipped free without permission. Not because she was weak, but because the fear was too vast to contain. Clark’s face flashed through her thoughts—the man she still cared for despite everything he had done. Then Vincent, with his steady gaze that had always made her feel safe.
And finally, a name that made her stomach twist.
Selena.
“No…” Nyla shook her head, trying to reject the thought. But the pieces snapped together mercilessly—subtle threats, false smiles, the way Selena always appeared just when Nyla was trying to stand back up.
A metal door creaked open.
Nyla flinched, her body going rigid. Dim light seeped in, shaping the silhouettes of two men. Their shoes hit the floor with casual ease—far too casual for men who had just shattered someone’s life.
“Awake already,” one of them said flatly.
“What do you want?” Nyla forced the words out, though her throat was painfully dry.
The man stepped closer and crouched in front of her. “You’re smart. So listen carefully. Don’t fight.”
“Why am I here?” Nyla met his gaze, even as her knees trembled. “Who sent you?”
He chuckled. “You don’t need to know.”
“You’re being paid,” Nyla pressed, steadying her shaking voice. “By whom?”
His eyes turned cold. “One more question, and you’ll regret it.”
The second man stood behind him, tapping the metal wall with something hard. Nyla held her breath as the pain in her head flared again.
“Listen,” the first man said. “You’ll stay here for a while. If you cooperate, you stay alive. If you don’t—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
The threat hung in the air, sharp enough to cut.
The door slammed shut. Darkness swallowed the room once more.
Nyla sagged against the wall, her back sliding down until she hit the floor. Her hands trembled, but her eyes remained dry. Fear began to change—slowly—into something else.
Anger.
Clear. Sharp.
If this is Selena, she thought, then she’s gone too far.
Nyla forced her breathing to steady. She examined herself—no serious injuries, just a swelling ache on her head and raw, reddened wrists. The chain was secured to an iron ring in the floor, but it wasn’t too short. She could move, at least a little.
“Think,” she whispered to herself. “Think.”
She remembered Vincent’s advice about survival. About not surrendering to panic. Nyla closed her eyes, pushing her thoughts into focus. Her fingers traced the floor, the wall, searching for anything—nails, shards, cracks.
Time crawled. Or perhaps it was her mind suffocating. Every small sound made her tense—a dripping echo, distant footsteps, the low hum of machinery.
The door opened again.
“You’re still alive,” the voice said with faint satisfaction.
Nyla lifted her head. “What do you want from me?”
“Don’t play the hero,” the man replied. “You only need to disappear from someone’s life.”
“Someone?” Nyla let out a bitter laugh. “I know who.”
The man froze.
Just for a second.
Long enough to confirm her suspicion.
“Selena,” Nyla said softly, but with certainty.
The slap came without warning. Heat exploded across her cheek, her ears ringing violently.
“Watch your mouth!” the man snarled. “That name doesn’t leave your lips.”
Nyla swallowed blood and stared at him without blinking. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That’s the answer I needed.”
He cursed and turned away. The door slammed shut with a deafening clang.
Nyla released a long breath. Pain pulsed through her, but beneath it, resolve hardened. She didn’t know how long she would be here. She didn’t know if anyone was searching for her.
But one thing was clear—
She would not surrender.
She began dragging the chain slowly across the floor, testing its strength, measuring its reach. Every inch mattered. She conserved her energy, observed patterns—how long the door stayed open, where the sounds came from.
Survive, she told herself. You have to survive.
In the darkness, Nyla discovered something she had buried long ago—courage born not from rage, but from the will to live. From the refusal to remain a pawn in someone else’s game.
She stared into the blackened wall as if daring it to break her.
“If I get out of here alive,” she whispered, her voice low and unyielding, “I will never let my enemies decide my fate again.”